


Moments: After Dark

by dramamelon



Series: 500 [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU friendly, Canon Friendly, Dirty Talk, M/M, Power Play, Slice of Life, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wet & Messy, humanized valves and spikes, minor elements of orgasm denial/delay, reference to other partners, stupid robots, unrepetant smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9999017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramamelon/pseuds/dramamelon
Summary: A collection of naughty shorts spanning multiple characters and ships.(This where all the super naughty prompts in the series go when they don't have a separate character/pairing collection.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prowl's got needs. Optimus knows how to take care of them.
> 
>  
> 
> One of five prompts offered up on tumblr, claimed by an anon! It went a little wilder than I expected it to.

He’d swear up and down that he did _not_ have a kink for power. Grinding troublemakers into the ground under the force of his thumb was just part of his job. He didn’t get off on it. No, what got him off was having his own face pressed into the chilly floor of his habsuite, his aft in the air, and the one and only Optimus Prime’s fat spike ramming a hard and steady beat into his dripping valve.

His groans were muffled by his own hand, the appendage shoved into his mouth in an attempt to better hear the sloppy wet squelch of interface. _This_ was power. _This_ was what shattered all the thoughts in his helm, leaving him weak in its wake. The hot stretch of valve mesh and gripping calipers sliding in slick tandem with the supple plating of a fully extended spike, girth plumped thick with the hot rush of energon that flowed through Optimus’ lines. The messy sound of it drove him deep into mindless, mechanimal rutting.

Heavy ridges modded along the length of Optimus’ spike played havoc over his interior nodes, those sensor clusters of sweet, carnal sensation. Large fingers swept circles of pressure over his anterior node in between strokes along Prowl’s own straining spike. Early release transfluid dripped like cleanser from a leaking faucet, puddling on the floor beneath him.

Optimus pressed against his back, battlemask retracted, and filled his audials with a filth very few knew him capable of. “Going to show you exactly what it means to fuck the police, you dirty little cable port.”

“Optimus….” The name was mangled around Prowl’s hand, more of a groan than anything understandable. It was probably the least embarrassing of the noises he was making, though he didn’t doubt it would make him blush just as hard when he replayed the memory file later.

“You love it when I jack into you, Prowl, don’t you?” Hot and breathy, Optimus’ low-tuned vocalizer rumbled into his brain module and shuddered down his back strut. “Better than any one of those fanmechs of yours,” Optimus said, punctuating the statement with a deep thrust and grind against Prowl’s aft. “Not a one of those Constructicons could ever frag you like I do.”

Squirming in the hold of the arms wrapped around him, Prowl lifted his hips higher into the thorough plowing of his valve. He slipped his free hand down to join Optimus in working his own spike, to play over his anterior node, only to have it swatted away. Prowl would deny it later, but he _whined_ low in his intake, a token protest before leaving control of his pleasure to Optimus. The hand in his mouth was liberally soaked with the flood of drool, glossa pinned tight against the roof while his dentae bit down harder on the knuckle that joined thumb to hand.

Then, Optimus’ hand gripped him tighter, pushing the need to overload straight to the forefront of Prowl’s brain module as he worked that narrow tunnel of fingers hard and fast over Prowl’s spike. He held Prowl close, spike sunk deep and unmoving as he rose up, drawing Prowl up against his front with him. Slick and spilling more freely than Prowl could remember in the entirety of his functioning, lubricant dripped in thick streams from his stretched valve down his wide-spread thighs, drawing lines over Optimus’ plating, as well, with the move. The scent of interface filled his nasal sensors, dancing increasingly intense crackles of building charge along his circuits.

Optimus didn’t let Prowl move beyond dropping his helm back to rest against the larger mech’s shoulder, both of their ventilations panting and heavy. The one hand held firm on Prowl’s spike still, but the other slipped from Prowl’s hip and across the heated, black plating of his pelvic span. It dipped down to find the open interface panels, skirting the edges before finally resting over the sensitive form his anterior node, smearing a gob of pink lubricant over the throbbing nub. Prowl jolted at the touch, straining against Optimus’ hold, his own hands clutching at Optimus’ forearms in a tight grip. And then that big spike shifted inside him again.

A subtle, quick pull and push. “Make me come, Prowl,” murmured that rumble of a voice. “Make me spill inside you, fill every bit of you up until it has no choice but to spill right back out around my spike.”

Fingers clenching, Prowl felt red armor dent under his hands. He gasped and arched back against Optimus, the heat of Optimus’ overclocked fans working to dump excess warmth warring with his own. Those big hands worked spike and node as Prowl swept his frame into a bounce decidedly uncalculated in execution. He was no practiced buymech, seeking shanix for another’s overload, but Mortilus take him if he didn’t do his damnedest to play the part being asked of him.

Charge swirled around his frame, building hotter and stronger with each rise and plunge of his hips. Prowl moaned at flood of sensation from his burning array, the feel of Optimus’ mouth playing along the joints of his sensor panels. Nonsense tumbled from his own lips as his frame curled forward in the endeavor to achieve completion for Optimus, rocking his frame over that spike. Prowl had no worries for his own overload—at this point, it was a matter of holding it off long enough to drag his partner along with him.

He was entirely uncertain how long he rode Optimus, feeling condensation bead and drip down his plating, before those strong arms wrapped tight around his middle, stilling him again. Optimus’ hands caught at his armor, fingers curling around one side while the other hand groped along his chest, resting over bumper and headlight. Spike and node pulsing with loss at sudden abandonment of his array, Prowl cried out. He’d never managed valve-only overloads, no matter the talent level of his partners. “No! No no no!”

“Yes,” Optimus said in a growl, nipping a path up Prowl’s spinal strut until he could catch cables at the back of his neck firm between his dentae. Prowl could only yelp at the shock of it, any further protest—not that he truly had any and Optimus very well knew it—fell by the wayside when Optimus’ hold curled tighter around his frame. That thick spike drove into him, wet and sloppy, Optimus’ hips slamming against his aft in rapid succession. Prowl’s charge continued to build, but it was now slow and turgid, his frame throbbing.

Cooling fans whirred a steady hum in his audials under the heavy grunts and huffing falling from Optimus’ intake. Optimus’ field pulsed with the beginnings of overload and Prowl clenched his dentae over his bottom lip. He waited with high expectation of his valve being pumped full of hot transfluid as the hard thrusting against him staggered in the final rush. At least Optimus would give him that much.

And then, Optimus pulled out.

“You fragger!” Prowl snarled and cursed at the other mech as his calipers cycled down hard on the sudden emptiness, clenching and releasing in aching repetition. He felt more than heard the animal whine that escaped him, ready to snap those sharp dentae at Optimus. The rutting continued against him as that expected transfluid painted searing stripes up his spinal strut, each thrust short and stuttered as Optimus’ frame gave into completion. His spark pulsed in time, his field teasing Prowl with the release he himself had not yet been granted.

“So good,” Optimus groaned against his audial as he came down to himself on the other end of the rush. “So very good, Prowl.”

His grasp slackened, giving Prowl room to move again, finally. Prowl took the opportunity, slipping his arms free and setting his hands right to business. Right hand wrapped firm around his spike and left hand working his dripping valve, Prowl didn’t bother waiting for Optimus to pull himself back together and decide to help. He certainly didn’t fight it when those thick fingered hands of Optimus’ finally joined in again, though.

Together, they whipped Prowl into a whirlwind of sharp charge that crackled along the edges of Prowl’s plating. Condensation sizzled under the intense heat, their joined hands easily ramping Prowl back up that final ascent. Leaning his head back against Optimus’ shoulder once more, Prowl alternated between holding his ventilations and gasping the burning air back into the room around them. His sensor panels fluttered weakly in the tight space between their two frames, Optimus’ depressurizing spike fit snugly against Prowl’s aft and lower back. The scent of ozone and cooling transfluid mixed sharply with the still hot and struggling effort of Prowl’s own frame to join Optimus on the other side.

“No,” Prowl groaned, an alert pinging across his HUD at the ignored state of his anterior node. For the rushed sake of filling his empty and clenching valve, he’d only barely given the charge-plump node the attention it needed. “Oh, frag, not what I need….”

“I know what you need,” Optimus rumbled with a chuckle. His large hand shifted, fingers moving to pinch and roll the prominent nub, drawing a sharp keen from Prowl’s vocalizer. Slick with lubricant from Prowl’s own valve, they settled into a strong rub. Prowl nearly choked over the intensity of the pleasure that surged through his lines, lighting up his cortex with raw mechanimal need. He turned into a writhing, gibbering mess in Optimus’ arms, useless in all but the single minded pursuit of his own overload, now so immediately within his reach.

The hand over Prowl’s on his spike squeezed their doubled grip a little tighter and increased the speed of their stroke, matching it to the fingers on his node.

“Do it, Prowl,” Optimus murmured. “Give into it. Give up this last bit of your control for me.”

It was the words that did it. Distracted for just a moment to parse their meaning, his waking mind let loose its grip and slipped free those baser desires of instinct. Prowl gasped and shuddered as overload took him, spilling hot transfluid over busy hands and sending a fresh flood of lubricant down the smooth plating trembling thighs. His neural pathways were scorched with the flush of explosive charge that swept through them, setting his pleasure centers alight before it all dropped away in the final plunge.

When Prowl came back to himself, he was slow to become aware the surface he now resided on was his berth rather than the floor. Belly down, his sensor panels fluttered soft and relaxed as he rubbed his cheek against the plush indulgence of a mesh pillow. A warm, moist cloth swept gently over his back and inner thighs.

“You are very lucky I’m not Sunstreaker,” Prowl purred in a quiet voice, as Optimus continued to clean the cooled transfluid from his back.

Sat on the berth beside him, Optimus smirked. “You might be surprised if you ever managed to find your way into his berth.”

Prowl flicked a sensor panel out of the way and arched an orbital ridge back over his shoulder, but refrained from comment. Optimus was obviously feeling cheeky enough at the moment to give Sideswipe’s smart mouth a run for its money. If there was something Prowl did not want in his berth right then, it was Sideswipe.

“Just hurry up and lay with me,” Prowl said, instead. “There’s still time to get in some recharge tonight.”

He ignored the promptly delivered response about feeling cuddly, but smiled at the soft laugh that accompanied it. No, he didn’t have kink for power over others. He could admit to himself he didn’t mind when the right bot used it over him, though.


End file.
